Emma Hart

One handywoman. One single dad. One set of twins. And the wall isn’t the only thing being drilled… I learned the hard way that being a handywoman isn’t easy. The questions, the stares—the assumption I’m the proud owner of a cock and balls. Not that it matters. I’ve proven over and over that I’m ready for anything the judgmental asses throw at me. Except the hot, single dad of twins who just moved to town. Brantley Cooper gets the shock of his life when I show up on his doorstep to fix up his kids’ new rooms. His son is confused why ‘the pretty lady has a drill,’ and his daughter has a new obsession—me. On paper, my job is easy. Go in, do their bedrooms, and leave. In theory, I’m spending eight hours a day with a guarded, sexy as hell guy, and I’m staying for dinner more often than I’m eating it alone, on my couch, with Friends re-runs. I shouldn’t be staying for dinner. I shouldn’t be helping him out with the twins. I shouldn’t be falling in love with tiny toes and dimpled cheeks. And I most definitely should not be kissing my client. Oops… MISS FIX-IT is a brand-new, standalone romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author, Emma Hart, who brought you BEING BROOKE and CATCHING CARLY.

Taking a work call for my best friend in my undies? Check. Filling in for her after an emergency and getting mistaken for her? Check. Royally messing it all up until the hot duke-in-waiting I hate but can’t keep my hands off steps in to save me? Uh, check… Yes, yes, that all sounds wonderful, doesn’t it? Until you consider I now have to plan and execute an 80th birthday party for The Dowager Duchess of Devon, and I can’t organise my hairbrushes. The current duchess is the ultimate Type-A personality, determined to micromanage the entire thing. I’m a type… XYZ...LMNOP… Maybe not even that. When all my attempts go to hell in half a handbasket—I can’t even mess up properly—the only hope I have to pull this thing off is duke-in-waiting Hugo Edwards. The dreamy, handsome, makes-my-heart-pitter-patter, arrogant tosspot Hugo Edwards. He and his brother are the only people who know who I really am. The success of their grandmother’s party relies on us getting along long enough to make it happen—and me and Hugo keeping our hands off one another behind closed doors. None of which is easy to achieve. When my best friend shows up to take over from me, the fact that I’ve fallen for Hugo is the least of my worries…

Speed dating: the act in which you have two minutes to figure out how much of a jerk someone is. And pretend like you don’t have the hots for your son’s soccer coach. After four years living the single life, it’s decided that I, London Stuart, am back on the market. I’m not even mad when my cousins and best friends put my name down for the speed dating sessions. In fact, I’m actually a little excited about it. Until one of my dates turns out to be my six-year-old son’s irresistibly sexy soccer coach. His irresistibly sexy British soccer coach. Oliver Hayes is too good to be true—he’s tall, dark, handsome, hilarious, and he genuinely loves kids. Especially mine. But he’s not sure if he’s even staying in the country, and I’m not sure I can handle giving him my heart if he’s only going to leave. So why is he over for dinner almost every night? Why is he giving Leo private goalie sessions in the backyard? Why is he sending flowers to my desk at the newspaper? And why, oh why, can’t I stop kissing him?

One accidental pregnancy. One fake husband. What can go wrong? There’s nothing like starting your Monday morning with a positive pregnancy test. Trust me, I know. Because I’m looking at one right now. All I can think is: Oh, hell. My grandmother is going to kill me. This might just send her to an early grave, so there’s only one option—pretending the father is my new husband. If only he’d agree to fake it. Kai Connors was supposed to be nothing more than a one-night stand. A long, dirty, one-night stand fueled by one too many tequila shots, where the only promise was to never speak of it again. But if my unfairly sexy next-door neighbor gets his way, this fake marriage could turn out to be very, very real…

Look, I didn't go out of my way to sleep with my next-door neighbor. It just happened. On the counter. Over the counter. Probably under it, too, if we hadn't moved it to the bedroom. But take it from me: a one night stand with your neighbor? It's not all it's cracked up to be... The One Night Stand Next Door is a short, flirty, and dirty prequel to The Girl Next Door. You don't have to read it before you dive in to The Girl Next Door, but why wouldn't you?

Revenge is a dish best served cold. Which is a real problem when the attraction runs red-hot.Trust me. I know. The only reason I decided to renovate my family’s ice-cream store was to serve up a sundae full of revenge for my a-hole ex who opened an ice-cream store right next to mine.It was supposed to be simple. Renovate. Reopen. Put his peachy butt out of business.Until he decided to get under my skin—and broke my toe. Now, I’m stuck with Chase in my store every day, helping me renovate. But he’s also in my head, and I’m spending a little too much time up against his abs.Not that it’s the worst place to be. But it doesn’t change anything. I still hate him, and I’m still going to get my revenge.Right?

What I wanted for my birthday: Books. What I got for my birthday: my brother’s best friend playing matchmaker. Let it be known that I, Kinsley Lane, am one hundred percent against being set up with somebody. And I’m one thousand percent sure that Josh Carter is not the man to find me a boyfriend. I mean, if I’m so great, why isn’t he the one dating me? (For the record, I don’t know the answer. That’s just what the guy on the internet asked.) Still, I’ll humor him. If I go on his little dates, he’ll teach my bookish, introverted self how not to be totally, completely, utterly, unforgivably awkward on every single one of them. And all I have to do is fall in love with one of the lovely gentlemen he’s serving up for me on a silver platter—all of whom fit my very specific guidelines. Simple, right? It would be. If only I could stop falling for Josh.

What I thought I’d get on Valentine’s Day: a card. What I got on Valentine’s Day: a blind date with my brand new roommate. Let it be known that I, Saylor Green, am wholeheartedly against blind dating. I think it’s superficial, unnecessary, and designed wholly to force people into relationships they aren’t ready for. It’s me. I’m people. So when Dylan Parker takes the seat across from me, I’m ready to dismiss him at one glance. The problem? He’s hot and funny and sweet and the exact kind of guy I read about in the romance novels I sell like hotcakes in my bookstore. He’s also my new roommate. Who likes to walk around in his sweatpants and peer over my shoulder and comment on all my online dating escapades. When he offers to help me flirt my way to dating success, I’m all for it. But what am I supposed to do when the only person I want to flirt with is... Dylan?

What I expected on Saturday morning: Books. What I got on Saturday morning: my ex-best friend and first crush in front of me. Let it be known that I, Holley Stuart, do not give a single rat’s behind about pro baseball’s star pitcher Sebastian Stone. I definitely don’t care that he’s standing in my bookstore. Nor do I care that he seems to have forgotten about the last time we saw each other—senior prom, when he both humiliated me and broke my heart, albeit unknowingly. Now, he needs a date to his sister’s wedding. Don’t ask me how I ended up being it, because I have no idea. But that’s the least of my problems. His grandfather is adamant we’re dating, and Seb isn’t in a hurry to convince him otherwise, so I have no choice but to go along with it. The problem? The only thing I’ve ever faked is… well, you know. I’ve definitely never faked my feelings for someone. And judging by the way I feel whenever Seb looks at me, it doesn’t look like I’m starting now

If anyone asks, I knew better than to flash my boobs for Mardi Gras beads. I still don’t know why I did it. Maybe it was the dare from my two best friends. Maybe it was the guys on the balcony saying they’d throw Fireball shots with the beads. Or maybe it was the quiet guy in the corner of that same balcony with piercing gray eyes, wavy dark hair, and a smile so tempting I wanted to climb up there and lick it off his face. Maybe it was because I never thought I’d see them again. Not that it matters. Not today. Because the hotel I manage was finally bought—and the guy who walks in and introduces himself as my new boss is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Silent. There are many upsides to being single. Your new boss knowing what your boobs look like? Not one of them. (THE UPSIDE TO BEING SINGLE is a standalone, romantic comedy from the author who brought you MISS FIX-IT and BEING BROOKE.)

What do a wrong number text, a burning building, and a quirky florist have in common? A hunky firefighter with an extra-large…hosepipe. In hindsight, I never should have opened that text message. The last thing I needed first thing on a Monday was a picture of some stranger’s, um, eggplant, in my inbox. I also should have replaced the batteries in my fire alarm, because my Friday night did not need to end with my apartment building going up in flames. But it’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine. I’m only lying in a hospital bed with more split ends than I’ve ever had, almost all my Earthly possessions have turned to ash, and apparently, they don’t serve wine to patients in this place. But like I said, it’s fine. Until he walks in. The guy who saved my life. My hero. Noah Jacobs. And the universe is amusing itself at my expense, because the dirty photo I woke up to on Monday? It’s his.